


The Moment Arrives (series #2) - Collection #1

by sweepeaspatch



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-05 04:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14036361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweepeaspatch/pseuds/sweepeaspatch
Summary: Series #2:  They've reached the tipping point.





	1. The Tie Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Stories #1-3 were previously posted on FanFiction.  
> Stories #4-6 were previously posted on AO3 as stand-alones.  
> New stories will be added regularly.  
> These stores are non-linear, may overlap, may repeat themes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Story #1: Careful what you dream for...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story Listing in this collection:  
> 1\. The Tie Dream  
> 2\. Dwayne Does His Duty  
> 3\. Heaven Help Me  
> 4\. Nothing Like a Good Read  
> 5\. The Book Club  
> 6\. A Hunger  
> 7\. Dear Mama Pru  
> 8\. He is the Lucky One  
> 9\. The Wonderful Surprise Suit  
> 10\. The Clock Strikes Two

The Tie Dream

Camille is asleep at her desk. Richard is out getting them a late lunch. They are on duty alone.

She is having The Tie Dream. He stands so still. She slips the jacket off his shoulders, slides it down his arms, hangs it on the magically appearing coat rack. Then the tie. He watches her with an amused half-smile and lidded eyes. He clasps his hands behind his back, giving her complete ownership of his body.

She undoes buttons, slowly, slowly, one at a time. The lengthening V of his shirt front reveals shadowed secrets within. She slips his shirt inch by inch off his shoulders, kissing the exposed skin as she lowers the material gently down his arms where it binds at his wrists because she NEVER undoes the cuffs. She twists a fist sharply, bunching up the shirt, draws his wrists together behind his back, capturing him, claiming him with a fierce kiss and a firm grasp of....

“Camille?” 

She swims up muzzily. He stands in front of her, paper bag in hand. Oh, what happened? Why is the dream starting over? She slowly gets to her feet to stand in front of him like always. She slips his jacket off, not hearing the soft thump of the bag hitting the floor. She wonders why his eyes are alarmed. No matter, the jacket is off. The coat rack isn’t there, another slight change, so she drapes the jacket over the nearest object, her chair.

His eyes dart to the abandoned piece of his armor then back to her. She smiles and slips off the tie whereupon it joins the jacket. His lips are moving but no sound is heard. His blush is hot between them. She starts on the buttons, one, two, three. The dear familiar V of pale skin grows before her hungry eyes. The next button always reveals the darker thatch of chest hair. She leans in the last few inches to kiss the sweet hollow of his throat when his hands catch at hers and he speaks. She pauses. This isn’t right!

She looks up to see NOT wry amusement or barely contained ardour but pale astonishment. His words finally register as he steps back, “Camille! Are you out of your mind? What are you doing?”

Shock bolts through her. She’s awake... that means… oh, merde, Merde, Merde!, Merde!!

She snatches her hands back, covering her mouth, keeping in the scream of embarrassment and horror. Oh, how could she have been so stupid? Falling asleep at the station! Letting the dream happen in the daylight? Her face flushes with shame. She snatches up her purse and races out the door, ignoring his shout behind her. She isn’t going to stick around for a royal dressing down! No way. She needs time to think, time to come up with something that would… would what? Avoid charges? Dismissal? His ever-lasting scorn and disrespect? Oh, Camille, you fool!

At home, she paces frantically. She can’t think of anything. Nothing at all. How can she salvage the least bit of dignity from this fiasco? What can she say to make him understand any of it? A full confession? Hardly! A carefully crafted lie? But what? ‘I thought you were someone else?’ Might work. But who would believe such a feeble lie? He is otherworldly but surely her actions were pretty explicit. Even the most innocent of virgins couldn’t have… Her pacing stops as her next favourite dream tries to intrude. 

A knock. ‘Oh, I hope that’s Maman. I need help!’ She flies to the door. Opens it. He darkens her step but doesn’t come in. He shuffles nervously. She can’t think of a single thing to say to him. It is just too awful. Finally, he asks, “May I come in? I believe we have something to discuss and I don’t want to do it out here in the street.” 

She nods miserably and lets him in. As he passes, she notices he is carrying his jacket and tie. ‘Oh, great! He doesn’t even want to wear them now.’ She sinks onto the sofa and covers her face. He sets down his burden and continues to stand. The silence spins out until she can’t take it anymore.

“Say what you came to say. I’m ready.”

“I don’t think you are. What do you expect me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know! How about ‘you’re fired!’ or ‘charges of sexual touching’ or ‘get off my island!’ Do any of those sound about right?”

“Well, perhaps, if it were Dwayne who’d half undressed me while I stood like a stunned fish.”

She pauses in her wallow of misery. She peeks out from between her fingers, “What?”

“The best I can come up with would be ‘sleeping while on duty’ but I suppose that might be my fault. Have you been sleeping much lately?” She shakes her head. “I thought not. That dream you were having, have it often?” She covers her face again. ‘Oh god, why is he so clinical? Everything is just nuts and bolts to him. Nothing of the heart, never anything of the heart. A robot.’ She nods again.

“It seemed a nice dream. I was just getting into it when we were so rudely interrupted by that annoying DI. Bit of a thicko, isn’t he?”

She stares at him now, “What?! What are you saying?! Am I in trouble or not?”

“I believe we are both in trouble but not the kind you imagine.”

He sinks down onto the sofa beside her. His thigh brushes hers and she misses his next few words, “You see, I’m in the same boat. I dream about you. It’s getting harder and harder to concentrate at work. Soon I won’t be able to function at all. I need your help.”

“MY help?!”

“Yes. If you could just walk me through one of my dreams then maybe it will go away. I’d be happy to reciprocate.”

Now she is standing, “Just a minute. Is that a proposition? An improper proposition? From YOU?”

He is trying very hard not to smile. He doesn’t often get the upper hand so thoroughly. He likes it. “It’s not improper. We’re two consenting adults. It’s off-hours. Consider it dream therapy and good for our mental health.”

She paces, running her hands through her hair. It is bushing out into a nimbus. He hopes to have his hands in it very soon. “Let me get this straight. You. And me. Together. In the same space?”

“Well,” he murmurs very low, “I hope some of our spaces overlap. Rather like a Venn Diagram.” She can only goggle at him. Such fine talk. Why did it sound so dirty?

He holds up a hand, “But! Please keep in mind this is NOT a business transaction. I know you think I’m a robot. I hope to impress upon you the vital missing clue to the puzzle that is Richard Poole.”

What on earth is he talking about? “What vital clue?”

He stands now, approaches her. She backs up a cautious step or two but finally has nowhere to go. He stands a few inches away, reaches up and undoes three buttons. His eyes gleam and his smile is eager.

“That I love you. Now, where were we?”

She is thunderstruck. “You… you… you what?”

He frowns slightly. “I love you. Have done for ages. What? Didn’t you know?”

She feels something fierce and sharp rising in her chest. “Know? Me know? HOW? Magic?” She advances on him with mayhem uppermost in her mind. How dare he drop a bombshell like this on her?

Now he is backing up, “Steady on, Camille. I thought you knew. Body English, remember? You can do it? I can’t? Remember? Haven’t we danced around this for too long? Isn’t it time we acted on it?” 

Oh, his eyes look worried now! Mr. Big Brain isn’t sure of himself anymore. Good. He is right, of course, but she isn’t going to tell him that… not in words. 

She grips his shirt front, pulls him in close, several buttons fly loose, “Oh, you want to dance, do you? Well, buster, The Tie Dream isn’t on the dance-card anymore! I’m moving on to Where A Certain D.I. Gets The Punishment He Deserves For Being A Very Bad Man!” So saying, she pushes him, ripping his shirt wide open, buttons pinging into the unknown. 

He falls onto the sofa, miraculously managing to lay full-length despite the angle and trajectory of his motion. Clever boy. 

She stands over him, burning, savoring the moment and the view. 

If anything, his eyes are brighter than before, “Before you start something that I’m certain we will both NEVER regret, you need to know one thing.”

Her breath is coming hard and fast now, not much control left, “What?”

He laughs, “I can be very bad.”

END – The Tie Dream


	2. Dwayne Does His Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Officer Myers is most observant. Time to take action.

Dwayne Does His Duty 

Camille and Dwayne sip their coffees in the break room and watch the interplay between the Chief and Fidel as they go over some files.

Dwayne leans over and murmurs, “That boy sure is in love with your man.”

Camille stiffens, whirls to hiss, “Ex-CUSE me?!”

Dwayne shrugs, “I mean the Chief. Fidel idolizes him, wants to be him.” Seeing her blazing eyes, he laughs quietly, “C’mon, Camille, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. I see how you look at him.”

“That is NONE of your business! And I DON’T look at him. Not like that. He’s my boss. Yours too so don’t get any crazy notions about anything! That’s an order!”

“Oh, ho! As bad as all that, eh? Not to worry. He’ll come to his senses soon and realize that you are totally wrong for each other.” He glances nonchalantly away.

She stiffens even further, “Wrong? Why wrong? What am I doing wrong?”

He grins and she knows he’s forced her to show her hand. He pats her on the shoulder, “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me and Fidel.”

She whispers, aghast, “Fidel knows?”

“Girl, ANY one who watches you two together for more than ten seconds would know! You’re like a bonfire blazin’ up. Why don’t women look at me like that? It’s not fair. Now, the Chief, he’s a bit more circumspect but my keen copper’s nose sussed it out long ago. He’s very entertainin’ to watch.”

“Sussed out what? Entertaining how?”

He smacks his forehead, “The Chief! The Chief’s reactions to you! He’s careful and you haven’t caught him out but I see it. Too long I’ve been seein’ it and I think it’s time I did somethin’ about it.”

He leaves her in the break room. She grabs for his arm but he easily dodges her. He returns to his desk and is thoughtful all afternoon.

Camille almost dies of pins and needles.

As Dwayne leaves that evening, he taps the side of his nose to her, and exits.

Next day, D. I. Poole looks up from his quarterly reports to see Officer Myers regarding him with sad eyes. He’s seen that look before, back in his bad old Croydon days, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Shaking his head, Dwayne sighs, “Ah, Chief. I really thought you had a chance with this one but she’s driftin’ away. You can’t keep a woman waitin’ too long. There are always men sniffin’ around, lookin’ for those disappointed in love. I get many a woman on the rebound. They are so… ” 

The Chief holds up a horrified hand, “Please, stop there, Officer Myers. Spare me the gory details. Your track record with women is public knowledge. I think you must be confusing me with someone else.” 

Dwayne shrugs, “If you say so, Chief.” He remains in place, watching.

Richard fidgets with his papers, “There is no woman. You must have faulty information.”

Dwayne feigns surprise, “Me, Chief? Bad information? Naw, I got the goods, all right. But you’re gonna lose this one if you don’t act soon. I’m just sayin’.”

Richard lays down his pen, “My private life is no one’s business but my own.” He picks up the pen and almost casually asks, “And what do you mean by ‘this one’?”

Dwayne spreads his hands placatingly, “OK, Chief, OK. I’m sorry I spoke up. I’m pretty sure she will kill me if I told you anyway. She’s very shy and doesn’t think she stands a chance with you. She’ll give up soon and maybe then I’ll stand a chance with her. She’s very lonely.” 

Dwayne has been backing towards the door as he spoke, “If you don’t need a woman in your life then I’ll take care of it. I’m always happy to do my duty where women are concerned!” He throws this last line over his shoulder and bounds down the stairs.

He chuckles at the memory of the Chief’s face. Oh, I am a very bad man, he thinks, smiling. 

He heads for Camille’s house. 

Camille is not surprised to see Dwayne on her doorstep, “OK, I got him primed for you. All you have to do is act sad and forlorn tomorrow, OK?” She invites him in and they make plans.

Next day, Camille gives the performance of a lifetime. The girl is dying of a broken heart. Even Fidel is worried but Dwayne can’t tell him what is going on. The man cannot keep a secret to save his life.

She never looks at the Chief once. So the Chief can look at her all he wants. But eventually even he gets worried. What is wrong with his Sergeant? Dwayne can see it writ large on his face. Finally, he nods his head towards the front door and the Chief joins him on the verandah.

“Do you know what’s wrong with Camille today? I’ve never seen her so quiet and not mad.”

“Oh, you know. Women get crossed in love and it makes them sad. Not to worry, Chief, I’m sure she will find someone new to cheer her up real soon.” He then saunters in to sit on Camille’s desk.

“Hey, Camille, the Chief has gone to check on something so let’s talk. I heard your Maman wants to start setting you up with blind dates again. Are you ready to give it another try?” He can see the Chief hovering outside just out of her eyesight.

She sighs mournfully, “Oh, Dwayne. I don’t know what to do. It’s so hopeless. None of them are the right one, you know? They’re dull and boring and ordinary. Why can’t any of them be fascinating and intelligent and quirky? Why can’t any of them have green eyes and those darling ties?” 

She pauses, watching Dwayne. Dwayne pauses and watches the Chief slump bonelessly down onto the verandah bench. He winks and shoots her two thumbs up. “Bulls-eye,” he whispers.

He pats her hand, “Don’t give up on men, cheri. Why don’t you finally give me a chance? I’ll make you forget him. Let’s you and me go for a romantic walk on the beach tonight. It’s a full moon and that will help take your mind off him.” He sees the Chief sit up, fists tightening.

She sighs, “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s time. He doesn’t love me. I’m wasting my life waiting for him.” She pauses. It is very quiet outside. “OK. Let’s do it. I’ll meet you down at the beach at 8 pm.”

He leans down and loudly plants a kiss on her cheek, “That’s my girl. I always knew we’d get together some day. I know you’re worth the wait. I’ll make you forget that English man.” 

As he strolls back to the verandah, he calls over his shoulder, “I’ll bring my lucky blanket.”

Stepping outside, he almost falters at the laser glare burning into him but this is just too much fun, “It’s OK, Chief. She won’t be a problem for you anymore. Not after tonight!” He grins, thumbs hooked in his belt, bouncing up and down on his heels. Like a man very sure of his luck.

It takes the Chief a few moments to collect himself. He joins Wayne at the railing looking down over the street. If a man ever looked like he could chew nails, this is him.

“Officer Myers, need I remind you of the non-fraternization policies associated with Law Enforcement? Your interest in your superior officer is very unprofessional. As is hers in you.”

“Things are different on the islands, Chief. There are lots of couples workin’ together here. You just keep home separate from work. Why, even the Commissioner married his Sergeant.” He sees this dart hit home. The Chiefs hackles lower. “Besides, rank and position are mostly a matter of luck or timin’. It isn’t fair to keep people apart based on that, now is it?” 

The Chief looks thoughtful.

“I mean, here’s you, a big D.I. You worked hard to get where you are. Then, purely by luck, you get sent here to us. You never saw that comin’, did you? No way you could have planned that?”

The Chief is listening closely and shakes his head, “No. Certainly not. Do you really think it was luck brought me here?”

Dwayne nods, “Lucky for us. And you too, I think. You weren’t happy in Croydon, were you?”

The Chief shakes his head, “No. I was not.”

Dwayne slaps him on the back, “There you go then! Pure luck on both sides. We got you and you got us. Funny how things work out sometimes.”

The Chief nods slightly, “Yes. Funny.”

Dwayne lowers his voice. The Chief leans in. “And then there’s Camille. When she left for France, no one expected her to come back. She was on the fast-track. Some undercover agents disappear forever, you know? Then you blow her cover and Lily is nicked and there’s a vacancy and Camille’s standin’ right there to fill it. Now, does that sound likely? Or was it luck?”

“It does sound highly unlikely when you put it like that.”

“Yes, mon! I couldn’t write a story as crazy as that!” 

They stand quietly for a moment then Dwayne claps his hands, “Well, I’m off. Got a big date tonight.” A hand lands hard on his forearm. Green eyes bore into his. 

Very quietly, the Chief says, “About that…”

It is ten minutes later and the office is very quiet. Mostly because the Chief and Camille have left together and Fidel is in shock.

Dwayne has his feet up on his desk, leaning back in his chair. He is feeling very pleased with himself. He watches Fidel process the last few minutes and sits up when the younger man finally turns to him.

“Dwayne?”

“Yes, Fidel?”

“Did the Chief actually kiss Camille in front of us?”

“Oh, that wasn’t a kiss. More of a peck on the cheek. Friendly-like, you know?”

“Well then, did he just ask her to take a stroll on the beach with him in the moonlight?”

“Yes, he did.”

“And she agreed? Without starting a fight or accusing him of being too English or anything like that?”

“Yes, she did.”

“And they left? Holding hands?”

“Um hum. Look, Fidel, you’d better snap out of it. We both knew this day would come. Or hopefully come. Things will be different here now but it has to stay the same too. We need to give them their privacy. No teasin’ the Chief. No sly jokes. No more limin’ after work every day. It doesn’t mean they need us less, just that they need each other more. Understand?”

Fidel nods happily. “Juliet will be so pleased. But, Dwayne, what did you give the Chief at the door?”

Lacing his hands behind his head, Dwayne grins wolfishly, “That, Fidel, was my lucky blanket.”

END – Dwayne Does His Duty


	3. Heaven Help Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She has man troubles... he tries to help.

**Heaven Help Me**

It is almost time for his first cup of tea of the day. Thank god! This morning has been utterly horrible. It should have been a quiet oasis of calm and order with a feeling of accomplishment for work done concisely and well, all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed, but instead it pulsed with a tension that tightened and tightened unbearably until she just wanted to scream.

He looks up precisely at 10 a.m. and she shot out of her chair and headed for the break room alarming him a trifle but perhaps she really needed her coffee this morning? He shrugs, resettling the clean line of his suit across his shoulders, and is quite content to be coddled a bit. It feels good.

Watching the kettle boil, she grips the counter edge with shaky hands. _This has got to stop! I can’t function anymore! He’s always so proper. What does he really think of me? Why does his every breath torment me so? I wish I could sleep._ Her eyes slide closed for moment and all her dreams flood back.

She is startled out of her only good moment of the day by his hesitant voice, “Ah, Camille? Everything all right?” Shocked alert, she hears the kettle whistling wildly. Whirling, she makes tea, hoping he hasn’t seen the blatant hunger in her eyes. He steps up beside her and helps with the mundane task that could be the basis of her latest dream… ‘The Brewing of the Tea’ staring D. I. Poole and some gormless woman who can’t tell the man she loves that she loves him.

She runs down like an unhappy toy and just stands there so close to crying that it alarms her afresh. She can smell him. His soap, his aftershave, his clothing. She can hear him. His breath, the soft rustlings and shifting of cloth sliding and stretching over his body. She imagines laying her hands on his chest, feeling the many layers of fine cloth but, underneath, the firmness of … _Stop! This! Right! Now! He would be horrified! He would be so disappointed! So unprofessional. So…_

She actually jumps when his hand touches her elbow, “Camille. What’s wrong? I don’t need a book to tell me you are very upset. Can I help in any way? I’m not very good with advice but I could try.”

She sees those green eyes trying very hard to meet her red-rimmed ones, to be the boss and do the right thing by his Sergeant. He really is trying to help. Too bad he is the problem.

“I can’t. Not here. Not to the boss.”

He ponders for a moment then hesitantly replies, “All right. Not here. Tonight, my porch, 8pm? Not the boss but a friend? Please let me help if I can.”

Numbly, she feels her head bobbing. He sighs deeply, gives her one last look then goes back to his desk.  _Oh, god, what have I just done? _she screams inside her head.__

____

Returning to his desk, Richard sets down his tea and stares into its depths. _Oh, god, what have I done? I’m rubbish when it comes to people, especially female people!_   But her anguish has been evident for a while now. _Some affair of the heart, no doubt._ He hopes that he can keep his own emotions off his face when she tells him all about the latest man to break her heart. Someday soon perhaps his heart will finally break in two and stop hurting. It is a most fervent wish. It just has to stop… and soon.

 **8pm**  
There’s a man...  
_(Ah, god, I knew it! Take heart, Richard. Try to get through this with some dignity intact.)_  
… I love him but he doesn’t love me  
_(What?)_ Are you certain? Have you asked him?  
No, I can’t get up the nerve.  
You have to ask him.  
What if he says no?  
_(Fat chance!)_ That’s the risk we all have to take.  
Even men?  
Especially men.  
Why especially?  
Women choose the men, don’t they? Flashy cars. Good suits. Chiseled jaws.  
Maybe. But it’s the hidden assets that they should look for, not the externals, except maybe for the chiseled jaw. He’s quite attractive.  
_(God give me strength.)_ So ask him.  
I can’t. He probably won’t tell me.  
Why? What’s wrong with him?  
He’s shy.  
He’s an idiot.  
He’s NOT an idiot. He’s sensitive and shy and brilliant and…  
_(Stop defending him! You’re killing me!)_ He’s an idiot if he can’t appreciate you.  
Thank you.  
You’re more than welcome. Logically, if he won’t tell you then you have to tell him.  
What?! I can’t do that! I’m scared he’ll reject me.  
Well, you’re at an impasse then.  
I know that! That’s what’s upsetting me! I can’t sleep! I can’t eat! I’m so afraid my work will suffer and you will chastise me and my heart will break. _(uh oh, a faux pas!)_ (He doesn’t notice)  
You are brilliant at your job. I couldn’t ask for a finer partner. I’m only happy when you are at my side. _(uh oh, a faux pas!)_ (She doesn’t notice)  
So you won’t fire me?  
No. In fact, if you asked, I’d probably help you cover up his murder and be happy to do it.  
So you think I should just tell him?  
Yes. Just say it. He will either accept it or reject it.  
You’re right. I have to do it. Do you think he might not even realize he has feelings for me?  
Could do. He’s a right royal idiot after all.  
What should I say?  
What’s his name?  
_(very small voice)_ … richard…  
_(Oh, bloody hell!! How much crueler can the world be?!)_ You say, “Richard, I’m in love with you.”  
Just like that?  
_(Please go now. Leave me so my heart can break in private.)_ Yes, just like that.  
OK. (deep breath) Richard, I’m in love with you.  
Yes, just like that.  
Richard, I’m in love with you.  
Fine. Fine. I think you have the gist of it.  
Richard…  
Look, you don’t have to keep practicing on me. Go find your ‘handsome’ young man and tell him.  
(She turns a slow circle then faces him again.) Richard, I’m in love with you. (Pause.) It’s not working.  
Well, keep practicing. Maybe you can throw in a snog or two to get his attention.  
He would NEVER accept a ‘snoggle’! He’s too refined.  
Snog, not snoggle. God, you French simply cannot speak the language.  
We speak OUR language, the language of love.  
Well, brush up on your language skills and off you go.  
You’re sending me away?  
Yes, I’m tired and feeling a bit sad.  
Why sad?  
Watching you fall in love… it makes me feel old.  
You’re NOT old! (long pause) You’ve never fallen in love?  
I thought so, once or twice, but now I know different.  
Something has changed for you recently?  
Yes.  
Something good?  
No. Yes. I don’t know. All I know is the old saying is true.  
What saying?  
Love hurts.  
Don’t give up hope. Maybe she feels the same. It IS a ‘she’?  
_(Oh, great! Maybe I’d have better luck if I tried the other half of the world population!)_ YES!! THANK YOU VERY MUCH!! And I doubt it. She’s too young. She’s carefree and I’m only me.  
But you are wonderful.  
No need to shore up my unhappiness. Off you go. Richard is waiting.  
I think Richard has been waiting a long time.  
He’s still an idiot. Anyone who would turn you down is a fool. Look, if he breaks your heart I’ll kill him, Dwayne will cut him up into bits, and Fidel will bury the bits all over the island. Problem solved!  
Will it hurt?  
I BLOODY WELL HOPE SO! My god, Camille! Stop torturing me! I’m not getting much sleep either.  
Bad dreams?  
No. Good dreams. It’s only bad when I wake up.  
Poor Richard.  
Yes. Poor me.  
Will you mind very much?  
Mind what?  
When it hurts?  
When what hurts?  
When Dwayne chops you up?  
When Dwayne does what?  
And when Fidel buries your bits all over the island?  
MY bits!!?  
Yes. Your bits.  
My bits…  
Yes. Richard’s bits.  
Richard. The man you love.  
Yes, handsome, shy, sensitive, brilliant, too refined to snoggle, chiseled jaw, NOT too old for me…  
(Much longer pause)  
Richard?  
Umm?  
Are we still talking?  
Um, give me a moment.  
(Still more silence)  
That’s your moment. Are you all right?  
No. I don’t think so. Let me think.  
(Someone is getting impatient)  
Richard, it’s getting dark. I can’t see you anymore.  
Good.  
Why good?  
God, I am such a fool!  
And an idiot?  
Oh, yes!  
I took your advice.  
Did you? I’ve rather lost the thread of our conversation.  
I came for your advice.  
I remember that.  
You told me how to handle it.  
I remember that too.  
Then I said, ‘Richard, I love you.’  
Right. You meant me, did you?  
Yes.  
Fancy me, do you?  
Yes.  
Why?  
It’s a complete mystery.  
I’m usually very good at mysteries.  
I know. It’s also a puzzle.  
I love puzzles. All those little bits that fit together to complete the picture.  
I don’t want your bits scattered all over the island.  
Thank you.  
I want…  
Yes?  
I want all your bits…  
Camille…  
… all your bits…  
Camille, snap out of it. My bits aren’t going anywhere.  
Oh, good.  
Is this where I ask you to come with me into my…  
… bed?!  
I was going to say ‘house’. To talk. I’m sensitive, remember? You can’t rush a sensitive man.  
If you don’t take me into your bed right now, mister, I am going to do all kinds of rushing!  
Ah, the impulsiveness of youth. So carefree. So happy.  
I am happy. Now. Like a dagger has been slipped out of my heart.  
As am I. Strange isn’t it? I can actually feel a warm spot over my heart.  
That’s me.  
Is it? You little minx, what are you up to in the dark over there?  
This. And this. And…  
Yep, I am officially being rushed. You are coming with me.  
Am I under arrest?  
Assaulting an officer in the line of duty? Oh, yes, my girl, you are nicked!  
But the assault hasn’t started yet.  
Call it preventative policing.

As he carried her slight body into the house, she whispered low and fast what she WOULD call it.  
In French.  
He didn’t understand most of it but he heartily agreed.

 **Morning**  
It is almost time for his first cup of tea of the day. Thank goodness! This morning has been an utter shag fest. It should have been a quiet oasis of calm and order with a feeling of accomplishment for work done concisely and well, all the i’s dotted and t’s crossed, but instead it pulsed with a tension that tightened and tightened blissfully until she just has to scream.

END – Heaven Help Me


	4. Nothing Like a Good Read

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will he turn that first page?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New story

**Nothing Like a Good Read**

They are meant to be going over some older cases but she is pacing. He knows something has been bothering her for weeks now, months even. She’s restless, agitated, short-tempered. He knows her Mum has been after her again. To find a man, settle down, produce the obligatory 2.5 children. His heart goes out to her but, of course, he can only commiserate in silence.

And worry. Camille. A man. It doesn’t bear thinking about. Time to dive back into cold hard facts.

He tries to get her attention but she is pacing, pacing. He watches her stalk from one end of his tiny living space to the other, passing his desk every 3 or 4 seconds. He wishes he could help her but he knows he isn’t the answer to her problem. He’s never been the answer to anyone’s problem.

_Oh, give it a rest, Poole. Leave her alone. She’s in trouble, somehow. Try to deal with THAT._

“Camille? Camille?” She stops pacing, pierces him with SUCH a look.

“What?”

He runs a hand down his tie. Is his suit of armor at full strength? He senses he will need it. “I can’t help noticing that you are very upset about something. Can I be of assistance? You know you can depend on me to help in any way I can. We won’t get any work done here today unless you calm down.”

She stares at him for a moment then whirls away to face one of his many bookcases. “Can you help? Yes, you can bloody help! But you won’t. Or you can’t. This isn’t something I imagine you’ve had much experience with.”

He is slightly hurt, “Oh. Is it a personal matter then?”

She runs her hands through her hair, nods, “Oh, I am in so much trouble.”

He can’t stand to see her in such torment. He gets up and crosses the room to her, stands at her right shoulder, “Please don’t say that. You can’t be in trouble. Not serious trouble, surely?”

She laughs harshly, “Oh, yes? And you would know this how?”

He hesitates, decides to let out the tiniest bit of his secret, “Because I know you, a little. I trust you to do what’s right and make the right choices. You’d never do anything deliberately to hurt anyone else.”

“Oh, wouldn’t I? What if my problem involves another person? What if my choice is wrong? What if it ruins any chance of happiness I can ever have? What then?”

He is nonplussed. He wishes he could put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. Better yet, to put his arms around her, turn her, tell her… No. Impossible. _Change tact, Poole._

“Can you displace your fears somehow? Approach the problem from a more dispassionate angle?”

She considers his suggestion. She can feel him close behind her. She almost expects him to put a hand on her shoulder. Better yet… No. Impossible. He never would. _Change tact, Bordey._

She finally focuses on what is in front of her. Books. Lots of books. Restful. Peaceful. His world. An idea swims up, questing, hunting, searching for a possible hook.

She reaches out, selects a slim volume, slips it into her hands. She turns it over and over, “So many books. Have you read them all?”

Quietly, right behind her right shoulder, “Yes.”

“Have you ever left a book on the shelf, unread, gathering dust, ignored?”

“No, never. That would be a crime against the existence of the book.”

Aha. She’s found the hook. Now to play the prize into the net. She mentally crosses her fingers and jigs the bait, “So. There’s a book but you never open it. You never know what’s inside. A bit like Schrödinger’s’ Cat.”

“But I would never do that. Each book here is loved and cherished.”

“And yet, there IS a book you’ve ignored. You are guilty of this crime.”

He swallows dryly. He feels a charge building up. He’s in the dark, standing at the lip of a precipice with only this woman beside him. He trusts her. He is ready. He takes the final step, “And where is this book?”

She turns to him. They are so close she has to refocus her eyes to meet his. She puts her right hand over her heart, “Right here. Why won’t you read THIS book?” She takes his right hand and places it over her right hand, “Shall I tell you what’s written on the dedication page?”

His eyes are huge. Spooked. But he isn’t moving. He stands very still, like someone facing a firing squad. He nods minutely. “It says ‘dedicated to Richard Poole’. What do you say to that?”

He has to try twice to speak, “I’d say that sounds like a wonderful book. Perhaps a fantasy?”

She puts her left hand atop his right, “Not a fantasy. This is real, Richard. I need an answer.”

He can feel his heartbeat. Hell, he’s not sure whose heartbeat is whose. His whole body is thrumming.

“Your pupils are dilating.”

“Are they?”

“Is it fight or flight?”

“Hard to say at this juncture. Is there a middle ground in there somewhere?”

She smiles, “Yes. And I think we both know what it is. Will you?”

A tiny incredulous smile flirts with the corner of his mouth. It is fascinating to watch. “I have one last question about this book. Is it in French?”

She can’t tear her gaze from his mouth, “Oui, most of it. But I hope to begin translation into English any moment now.”

As he takes her in his arms, he groans, “God, I hate deadlines! Some things can’t be rushed, you know? It needs a delicate hand, much research, multiple edits, and loads of run-throughs to get it right.”

She murmurs into his mouth, “And maybe we’ll never get it right?”

“Mmm, let’s hope it takes years and years.”

**Next day**

Dwayne is bored, sees Camille walk in, “Hey, girl! You’re lookin’ chipper. Finally get some sleep?”

“Not a wink, Dwayne. Not a wink.”

“Oh. What did you do then? Find a good book?”

Her eyes glow as she watches a silhouette appear in the doorway, “The very best. Pulitzer Prize material.” She laughs as the Chief passes behind her on his way to his desk, “And that’s a pity because it’s a real page-turner and still being written. I’ll get a new chapter every night.”

Dwayne frowns. The Chief is not rising to her comments. That’s not like him. Dwayne doesn’t recognize the look on the Chief’s face as he murmurs, “Really, Camille. Leave your personal life at home. This is a place of employment, not a book club.”  Their eyes meet and they laugh quietly.

Dwayne shakes his head. Those two. He wishes, not for the first time, that they would just get onto the same page.

END – Nothing Like a Good Read


	5. The Book Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reading between the lines can be a hazard to your health.

**The Book Club**

It is a boring afternoon. Just the soft chuffing of the ceiling fan and the Chief’s papers rustling broke the monotony.

Into the somnolent stillness, a voice sounds, “Hey, Camille. You’re in that book club, right? How about tellin’ us a story?”

Her pleasant musings of a certain suit interrupted, Camille sits up, “What’s that? Book club?”

“Yeah. You told us last week that you were readin’ a really good book. A new chapter every night, that’s what you said, didn’t she, Fidel?”

Fidel nods. He loves a good read.

Camille’s eyes slide to her man then away.  Dare she?  It would be such fun.  All’s fair in love and war. She takes a deep breath, “Welllllll, what do you want to hear?”

Richard is watching her with a smile, “Yes, Camille. DO tell.”

She returns a ‘are you daring me?’ look. His eyebrows lift in response, his mouth quirking up in that… Oh, that man! _OK, mister. Engarde!_

She settles back into her chair, gently swinging from side to side. “Let’s see. We all like a good murder, don’t we?” The three men nod. “But we get enough of that at work, so other than 'killing me softly', that’s out.”

Dwayne and Fidel look at each other. Isn’t that a song? Is it a book too?

The Chief snorts. He obviously got the reference, “Besides, most murder mysteries are completely predictable by page 12… or is it page 42? That’s why I prefer reading cold cases.”

Camille murmurs, “… and they take up entirely too much room.”

Dwayne is puzzled at this, “Eh? Well, you go to spread those files out, right, Chief?  To get the full picture.  You can’t solve them if they’re stacked.”

The Chief nods emphatically, “My opinion exactly! Thank you, Dwayne.”

Dwayne gets the feeling that he is in a different conversation here but definitely upholding the Chief’s side, whatever it is, so that’s good.

Camille sighs, “Well, OK. If murder is out, how about just a mystery? Where you go on and on and on but nothing happens… until… ” She pauses. Silence descends. The men wait. She slaps her hands down onto her desktop with a bang! The men all jump. “Until BANG, everything is revealed on the very last page! Explosions! Agony! People on fire! Body parts everywhere!”

Fidel is agog, “Holy smokes! And no deaths?”

“Oh, someone died a little… but he recovered.”

Fidel and Dwayne give each other another look. The Chief harrumphs.

She brings her shoulders up and coos, “Oh. And I LOVE a good western... ”

“Camille… ” a soft warning sound from the Chiefs’ vicinity.

“Or maybe not! Perhaps I’ll try that one tonight! Or… ” she turns to the Chief, “… how about a cookbook? All those ingredients and delicate procedures. You just have to add heat.”

A finger is run under a collar, “Yes, the application of heat. A most important step.”

Dwayne’s arms are crossed. He is really getting vibes here. Some sorta code?

The Chief stands up carefully, “What you need is an Owner’s Manual… or, perhaps, a travel guide?”

Camille runs her gaze up and down him. Dwayne is almost certain she mutters something about pile-drivers and trips to the far south then she smiles lazily, “And don’t get me started on adventure! Daring do! Incredible feats of heroics. Fast paced action.”

The Chief has come to her desk now, “Don’t forget the femme fatale.”

She looks up at him, “… or the hero.” Their eyes lock.

Dwayne feels some sort of power struggle going on. What in the world are they fighting about NOW?

“You know, all this literary discussion has piqued my interest. I’m off to the library. I’m in the mood right now for a cracking good read to stretch my… ” Camille’s eyebrows go way up. “… horizons.”

Jumping to her feet, she grabs her purse, “I’m coming too. I’d like to check out the romance section for a real good bodice-ripper!”

They practically run out the door, the Chief muttering, “Oh, yep. Gotta have one of those!”

Fidel watches them go, then, “Hey! They took the Jeep! The library isn’t that far. It’s an easy walk.”

Dwayne frowns, “Beats me how the Chief can get so riled up over books.” He turns to Fidel, “And do you know what? Camille says he has a special bookmark for whatever read he’s on at the moment.”

Turning back to his desk, Fidel shrugs, “Seems like overkill to me. How much reading can a man do in a day?”

END – The Book Club


	6. A Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voodoo or self-delusion?

**A Hunger**

Part 1

The Chief takes Dwayne aside into the station break area, “Do you ever feel like you’re being watched?”

Dwayne grins, “Alla time, Chief. The ladies can’t get enough of me.”

The Chief lowers his voice, “No. Not like that. Like someone is standing… ” he points carefully over his left shoulder, “… right… there.”

Dwayne frowns, “Like someone is standin’ right behind you? Right now?”

“Yes. Not that I believe for one minute… ”

“Of course not, Chief!” then more quietly, “When did it start?”

“About 2 weeks ago. A foolish notion really… ”

“It never hurts to be careful. Is it gettin’ stronger?”

“Yes. More urgent by the day.”

“Does it feel angry or dangerous? Any clue what it wants?” The Chief ponders then shakes his head. They pause as Camille comes for a fresh cup of coffee then leaves, both feeling cold breath on the back of their necks. Dwayne moans, “Oh, man! I felt that! You got Un Faim on you! Un Faim!”

“Sounds ghastly! Is it a haunting? Not that I believe in ghosts, of course.”

“Who does? No, this is an island thing. Someone wants you to do somethin’ and they’ve put Un Faim on you to make you do it. Have you pissed off anyone lately… anyone ELSE, I mean?”

“No more than usual.”

“So… could be anyone and everyone.”

“Thanks for that. How am I expected to know what to do? It seems totally pointless!”

Camille walks past again, flipping through reports. The Chiefs mug flies off the counter and shatters on the floor. Looking down at the broken shards, Dwayne says, “I’m just guessin’ here but… maybe it has somethin’ to do with Camille?”

“Camille? Why on earth would you think that? She can’t believe in that sort of thing?”

“Mebee not but someone connected with her sure does. Who can it be?”

They stare at each other a moment then whisper in unison, “Maman!”

Part 2 

Dwayne watches the Chief try to tough it out, every day getting worse. First it is little things. His pens keep disappearing right off his desktop. Tea jumps out of his cup to soak his shirt and tie. One time he sat staring down at his shoe laces mysteriously knotted together. His chair collapses under him. He almost falls down the stairs when a coconut barely misses him from a tree that isn’t there.

After about a week of this, the Chief pulls him aside, “Dwayne, I can’t take any more of this! Sooner or later people are going to realize that things aren’t right. How am I expected to do my job if I can’t manage 5 minutes without an outrageous incident? You’ve got to help me.”

“Me, Chief? How can I help?”

“Go to Catherine. Sound her out. It’s too crazy for words but I’m getting desperate.” They pause to watch Richard’s desk slowly tip over. The Chief gestures frantically, “Please!”

Dwayne finds Catherine calmly setting up for the day at La Kaz, “Officer Myers. What a surprise.”

He nervously shuffles his feet, “Um, Catherine. The Chief wants to know if you have anythin’ to do with certain troubles we’ve been havin’ at the station.”

Her face settles in satisfaction, “Oh, dear. Has the poor man been having difficulties?”

“Come on, Catherine, have a heart. Just tell me, yes or no?”

Turning back to her chores, she shrugs, “Yes.”

“Well, call it off. He’s not from here. He doesn’t understand. His heart won’t take it.”

Catherine whirls, eyes blazing, “HIS heart?! What about Camille’s heart? I see her pining for that man! She’s dwindling away and he doesn’t care! What about MY heart! To see my poor child hurting. To know there will never be grandchildren. Don’t you talk to me about HIS heart!”

“But is this the way to do it? He’s a red-blooded man. She’s a grown woman. Can’t we let them work it out themselves?”

She shakes her head, “Red blood. Hah! Tea, more like! Non! It must be now!”

“Camille will be pretty mad when she finds out what you’ve done.”

Catherine waves a dismissive hand, “She will forgive me when he finally does his duty.”

“How will you know it’s done?”

She leans forward, whispers, “The Loa know all.”

Part 3

Dwayne returns to the station. The Chief leaps up from his desk which is leaning the other way now, “Dwayne! Anything?”  Dwayne nods and they go into a break room huddle.

“Right. Here’s the scoop. She will call it off if you… ”

“Yes? If I what?”

Dwayne clears his throat, “Well, it’s kinda indelicate. She wants grandchildren.”

The Chief absorbs this, looks a bit sad, “And she wants me to help Camille find a husband? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

The break room cupboards fly open. The contents spill out.

Dwayne stares at the Chief in awe, “I’ll say it’s a bit much! Not FIND a husband! BE the husband!”

The Chief goes still. Then white. Then red. Then white.

The sink taps turn on then off.

“Hey, Chief, did you know your eyes can change colour?”

“What colour are they now? Because I SEE RED! How dare that woman try to force me to marry a woman who doesn’t love me? How am I supposed to convince Camille to have children when she can’t stand the sight of me? It’s not like I haven’t tried! The quiet talks, the flowers, the little courtesies. Nothing works. What do I have to do, shout to the world ‘I love you, Camille Bordey, and I want you to have my children!’?” He drops his face into his hands. “Oh, lord, I’m in way over my head.”

A voice speaks behind them, “You don’t have to shout and, yes, you ARE in over your head.”

Dwayne barely manages to get out of the way as Camille slams into the Chief for a clinch of momentous proportions.

Part 4 

Dwayne rushes out onto the veranda, fanning himself. That had been a close one! He is almost sure he’d felt lightning building up just before Camille stepped into view as the Chief got to the part about ‘seeing red’.

He sees Fidel coming up the stairs and takes him back down to sit at the bottom step, “Let’s wait here for a while, just you an’ me, OK?”

Fidel twists around to look back up at the station, “What’s all that noise? Is someone breaking the crockery up there?” He makes as if to get up but Dwayne lays a hand on his arm, “No, don’t interfere. It’s the Loa, Un Faim, and cherchez-la-femme all rolled up into one.”

“I don’t understand.”

“And you a married man! Let’s wait here until all the commotion dies down. I expect the Chief will let us back in sooner or later.” Under his breath, he mutters, “Later, if he knows what’s good for him.” Out loud he states, “In the meantime, we guard.”

Silence descends.

Glancing back up to the building, Dwayne sees a cloud of leaves dancing in a gyre above the roof. Their movement has a certain beat that Dwayne finds very suggestive. He watches the leaves dance and circle faster and faster. _Pretty impressive, the way they stay up like that_ , he thinks. It is some time before they stop and they are just leaves settling out of the air. He feels a little flushed. The Loa aren’t exactly discrete at times. He wonders if he should tell the Chief but decides not to. The man deserves some semblance of privacy, after all.

Turning back, he tells Fidel, “OK, he’ll be out in a minute or two. Almost time to go back to work.”

In a minute or two, Fidel wonders, not for the first time, _How does he know things like that?_

END – A Hunger


	7. Dear Mama Pru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all advice is good advice!

**Dear Mama Pru**

Advice to the love lorn by Mama Pru – a daily column in the Saint Marie Times

Dear Mama Pru: I work in an office with two people who are very much in love but won’t admit it. It puts a lot of strain on the rest of us. What should we do? -Concerned Co-worker.

Dear Concerned Co-worker: Slip some of my love nostrum #1 into their coffees. – Mama Pru

Dear Mama Pru: My co-worker already tried that. Didn’t work. All they do is fight. –CC

Dear CC: #1 always works! Your friend must have misread the directions. Try again. – MP

Dear Mama Pru: I did not misread the directions! I’ve used your products for many years now and they have never failed! If these two can fight off the effects of #1, what else can we try? - 2nd CC

Dear 2nd CC: I have never known #1 to fail. This must be a special case. Try zombie #2 or love slave #5. If that doesn’t work, try them together. Good luck. Stand by with a pail of water. –MP

Dear Mama Pru: Nothing. I needed the pail of water to throw on them in the middle of a fight! – 2nd CC

Dear Mama Pru: We are now in Dutch with the boss. What can we do? Help! - CC

Dear CC: Can you send me locks of their hair? This is a matter for higher powers. – MP

Dear Mama Pru: Here you go. Wasn’t half-impossible to get the sandy bit... a bit of break and enter and tons of lying and paperwork. – 2nd CC

Dear CC and 2nd CC: Bondye! What creature submitted the sandy bit? I’ve never seen anything like it. It resists all invocations and callings. Please advise. – MP

Dear Mama Pru: Now you know what we are up against! He’s impervious, oblivious, obstinate, and perhaps even otherworldly himself. AND he’s getting suspicious. We are pretty sure he doesn’t read this column but if he does we are truly in deep merde! -2nd CC

Dear Mama Pru: Please ignore my earlier request for aid in this matter. It isn’t worth the risk. – CC

Dear Mama Pru: Well, I’m not giving up! -2nd CC

Dear 2nd CC: Where are you? Any developments? - MP

Dear 2nd CC: ?????? The Loa got you? - MP

Dear Mama Pru: I had to take a brief sabbatical, off the island and far away! He’s frosted!! Turns out his boss’ wife DOES read your column. It would have been better for me if the Lod HAD got me! Oh, my life is a misery. – 2nd CC

Dear 2nd CC: Buck up, try some of my harmony #6 elixir. It never fails. – MP

Dear Mama Pru: Raw rum can’t help me now. Good bye. Pray for me. – 2nd CC

Dear Mama Pru: Thank you but your assistance is no longer required in this matter. My team now sees the error of their ways and assure me that no further actions will be taken on behalf of myself or my colleague. Here endth the lesson. – Frosted

Dear Mama Pru: What effect would Love Nostrum #1, Zombie #2, AND Love Slave #5 have? - Curious

Dear Curious: Gods above!! Do NOT - I repeat - do NOT attempt such a combination! Promise me! - MP

Dear Mama Pru: I’m going in tonight. Wish me luck. – Curious

Dear Curious: Stop! You don’t know what you’re doing! CC! 2nd CC! Stop them! - MP

Personal Columns – Lost and/or Found:

Missing: half of the Honoré police force, current whereabouts unknown. Anyone catching sight of them, please tell them to get the hell back home as CC and 2nd CC are very very sorry and need a break from manning the station 24/7. All the pails are put away. Please come home.

END – Dear Mama Pru


	8. He is the Lucky One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard needs advice on women and chooses the right expert to ask.

**He is the Lucky One**

Dwayne’s double dates pick him up at the station. Marveling at the suave machinations, Camille watches them out the door and says over her shoulder, “That man is getting a double dose tonight.”

A choked response of, “Lucky him,” causes her to look over her shoulder just in time to see such a look of wretched pain on Richard’s face that she whirls in surprise.

“Sir! Are you alright?”

“No. I’m not.” His face sinks into his hands. Utter loneliness washes over him. How can a person be so miserable and still function? Without constant distraction, his life is awful. Here, in this tropical inferno, it is hell. He is so tired. He can’t sleep. He can’t eat. Only tea made his life bearable. That and solving crime. That and the steady dependable support of Camille.

Camille. He lifts his head. Camille. Could she help? It isn’t right that he get her involved but… he’s so tired. Exhausted. He is ready to clutch at any straw.

“Camille? Can we talk? Privately, I mean? I need some advice and I trust your judgement. This has to remain strictly confidential. Not a word to anyone.”

She hurries over to his desk, away from the door, away from the outside world, “What is it? I know you’re not happy. Is it something more than that? Are you ill? Is it the fever?”

He shakes his head, leans his elbows on his desk, eyes downcast, “This is very hard for me to say but I’m at the end of my rope. I’m barely hanging on. Every day I wake up and I don’t know if I can go through the motions again. It all seems so hopeless. So useless.”

She pulls up a chair, puts a concerned hand on his shoulder. She feels the heat radiating off him, “Oh! Take this jacket off! You aren’t well and this isn’t helping.” He lets her slip his jacket off with token resistance. The tie goes next. Cold water comes out. He feels a small lick of muted pleasure to have someone look after him. He closes his eyes and drinks. Why does this little gesture shake him up so badly? Camille is just doing her job, after all.

She settles him to her satisfaction, leans her elbows on her knees, her face close to his. For privacy. “Now, can you tell me what’s really wrong? What is so hopeless?”

“Me. My life. Why do I strive for no reason? I have no meaning beyond the Law.”

She is shaken. This is raw. Unexpected. “But you are vital to the life of this island, to the people.”

He finally meets her eyes, “But what about ME? When do I get a life? Where is my wife? Where are my children? Tell me, Camille, when do I get to be happy?”

She meets his anguished gaze, appalled to hear her own fears and doubts echoing in this man, “My life… that’s MY life you’re describing!”

“You?” He seems to recover a bit, puzzled, “How can your life be anything but perfect? You’re perfect. Your life must be perfect too.”

She shakes her head, snorting in disgust, “My life perfect? Everything you just said... ditto for me.”

They look at each other, then away, thinking.

“Can you help me?” he sighs. She watches him. What is he suggesting? “You understand women. What am I doing wrong?”

“Nothing! You’re doing nothing wrong. Except you don’t listen. You don’t talk. You could just nod and smile and be kind. You’re closed off. Unapproachable. Women like a challenge but you’re too much.”

“But how can I trust ANY one enough to do any of that?”

“You need someone the exact opposite to you. Someone who listens, talks, is open to Life’s joys.”

He nods. He sees it. Yes. He needs a polar opposite, “Wouldn’t we fight all the time then? If we’re so opposite, where would we find common ground?”

She taps him over his heart, “Right here. This is the common ground. You create one. Together.”

They are quiet, each thinking about their situation. He takes a deep breath, “I need someone like you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You fit the bill perfectly. Too bad you don’t love me.”

She sees his words hanging in the air between them, slowly spinning under the incredible emotional weight of two lives in peril. She can’t catch her breath. Her heart is tripping. Sweat breaks out then dries with the sudden heat of her skin. Her mind is spinning as new thoughts fly in and out of her reach. Him? Love him? When did that happen? How could she have missed it? Something is swelling in her throat. A low-grade fever roars into life somewhere in the vicinity of her stomach.

She looks at him, runs her eyes over him. The solid well-known shape of him. His sound. His smell. The memories of the few times he has touched her. Nothing has changed. Everything is changed.

Time to do something new. Be brave, girl.

“Richard?” she whispers in wonder.

His head comes up, tired, beaten. Her heart goes out to him and she is sure. She puts a hand over his where it rests on his knee, “Prepare yourself.”

He gives a wan smile. She realizes that she loves that smile, tiny as it is. What did a real smile look like on that dear face? She wants to see it. He sighs, “Prepare for what?”

“A shock.”

He sits up, humoring her, “OK. I’m ready.”

“I don’t think you are but OK. Here goes… I DO love you.”

“That’s not funny, Camille. I need help here, not japes.”

“No joke. I just realized it. I love you. Have done for some time now.”

“That can’t be right. You’re just being kind. I don’t need pity. I need a real woman in my life.”

She perks up, “You have one. Me.”

“But it’s not the same. You’re here. Part of the job. You’re my right-hand.”

“But I can be both, can’t I?” She looks into his eyes as truthfully as she can, “Can’t I?”

He is speechless. His eyes and ears are telling him one thing. His brain, his past, his fears are telling him another. Don’t believe her. Don’t trust her. She’s a woman and all they do is lie and hurt you. Yet. But. This is Camille. The only one he trusts enough to even talk to. Open up to. His tired mind whirls.

She watches him think. She can see the conflict warring within him. What can she do to tip the scales? All she can think to do is lean in very carefully and kiss him while he is frozen in shock. His sharp intake of breath is his only reaction. He does not break the kiss. She dares a little further, cups his face in her hands, deepens the kiss. He slowly drops out of his chair, kneels at her feet, places his hands very cautiously on her hips, and the kiss deepens anew.

She doesn’t want it to stop. Surely they will have to break off soon in order to breathe but, for now, this is all she wants. His arms are going around her, pulling her to the floor to kneel between his knees. He straightens up, pressing himself against her. Her arms pull him in tight. They kiss until she is light-headed. She has to pull away, gasping.

He rears back, surprise and delight shining in his face. His gaze flicks back and forth across her face, her flush, the dilated pupils, the swollen lips… he knows what he sees. Recognizes the same symptoms in himself. That, and one more reaction that should be quite embarrassing but isn’t. It feels wonderful.

He clears his throat, “Well, I think we’ve discussed our problems enough. Time to close up shop and retire for private consultation.”

“Yes. Please. My place or yours?”

“Mine. No witnesses.”

“This isn’t the crime. The crime was the wasting of valuable time. We should have talked ages ago.”

He helps her to her feet and they walk out into the night, ready for the next step.

END – He is the Lucky One


	9. The Wonderful Surprise Suit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The white board and a crime of passion.

** The Wonderful Surprise Suit  **

A beautifully tailored light-weight suit is hanging on the station door when Richard reaches the top of the stairs. He looks at it in surprise. _Who delivers dry cleaning here?_ He notices the light fabric when he pulls off the little note attached to the lapel. This is not one of his suits after all.

The note simply says, “A gift freely given to D.I. Poole with much gratitude and appreciation from several grateful families in Honoré.” As he takes it into the station, he admires the dark colour, so like his own suits. _You can’t tell the difference, really. Too bad I can’t accept it._

Once Camille, Dwayne and Fidel arrive and see the suit, the argument begins. As he knew it would.

“But WHY can’t you keep it? It’s a gift!” Camille all but howls.

“I can’t take a bribe.”

“It’s a GIFT! Do you want to insult the families who gave it to you? Don’t you realize how much you are admired and respected by the towns’ people?”

“Really, Camille, I’m just a public official doing my job. No one knows or cares about me.”

“You’re wrong there, Chief,” spoke up Fidel, “You are well-known all over this island and others too. People have family. They talk. People are very proud of you. They don’t understand you but that’s part of your mystique.”

“My what?”

“Your mystique. Your wool suits. People used to think you were impervious to everything but your bout of fever woke them up. I think you should take the suit. If you aren’t so hot and uncomfortable all the time, think of all the extra crime you could fight.”

“Really, Fidel, I’m not a super hero.”

“Could have fooled me," sotto voce.

“I heard that.”

“See?” Fidel grins, “You DO have super powers.”

Camille jumps back into the fray, “Please, Richard! We worry so much about you. One of these days you will pass out and really hurt yourself. Please take the suit!”

His arms are crossed and he is adamant, “No.”

A new voice speaks up, “I’LL take the suit.” They watch in surprise as Dwayne takes the suit to his desk, fills out some forms, files them, then hangs the suit in the supply closet. Their eyes are all on him as he turns to face the room, “There. All done. It is now listed under ‘office supplies – clothing allowance – estimated value $1’.

Camille hugs him, “Dwayne, you are a genius!” She whirls on Richard, “There! Now we ALL own it. And since you’re the boss, you get to use it first!”

A new argument erupts. Shouldn’t the suit stay in the office then? Camille is exasperated, “You can’t dress in your wool suit, come here, change, then get back into your wool suit to go home again. _Besides,_ she thinks, _my heart couldn’t take it._

“Easy,” Dwayne says, “The Chief can sign the suit in and out as per normal office procedure.”

That settled that. Richard signs out the suit and takes it home. He has his early evening shower and changes into it. It is a revelation. He didn’t need his late evening shower at all.

The next day, the suit is seen on the streets of town.

More suits appear on the station door, also light-weight shirts and ties that almost match his current wardrobe. Someone has certainly been paying attention.

“And you say all this is from people I don’t even know?” he asks Fidel.

Fidel nods, “Oh, yes, sir! People are over the moon that you are using their gifts… office supplies, I mean. They want you to be happy here. They want you to make your home here.”

Richard’s eyes slide involuntarily towards Camille for a split second, “Well, that’s very nice. I’ve never been appreciated anywhere else I’ve been.”

“More fools them,” sneers Camille. Her plans to fire-bomb Croydon are renewed.

Having changed into one of the new shirts, Richard comes back out into the common area for a group assessment, “What do you think? Feels a bit scant.”

“You look very dashing/Suits you/Very Chiefly” are the verdicts.

He looks down at himself, “How did they know my measurements so accurately?”

“Maybe someone took them on the street when you weren’t paying attention?”

“Believe me, Camille, one’s in-seam and chest dimensions can NOT be taken surreptitiously.”

 _Oh, merde,_ she thinks, _thanks for that mental image!_

“It was probably done by someone involved with the dry cleaning of my original suits. They must pass through several pairs of hands before returning to me.”

 _Why not MY hands?_ she grouses to herself.

It is later in the afternoon when Camille discovers, quite innocently, that the new shirt is almost transparent in the right light. After calling him over into a shaft of afternoon light to look at yet another bit of business that really didn’t need his attention, Dwayne sidles up to her, “The Chief won’t like it if he finds out” he whispers from the side of his mouth.

“Are YOU going to tell him?” she whispers back.

“No, but you have to tell him, girl! It’s painful to watch you two. You don’t know how much longer he’ll be here and you are wastin’ valuable time.”

She turns to him, “I HAVE told him, every way I know how! He is either ignoring me or rejecting me.”

Studying the Chief carefully, Dwayne murmurs, “Or he really doesn’t understand the situation at all.”

They both study him. Finally, Camille mutters, “No one can be that oblivious, surely?”

“He’s more of a tightly bound book. In a different language. With invisible ink. All the pages glued together. And a lock. Maybe you need to tell him in a language he understands.”

“You mean like… a crime scene?”

“Maybe. He’s very good at puzzles.”

“Hmmm.” A crazy idea has just popped into her head. Did she have the nerve to carry it out?

Over the next several days, she carefully makes preparations. When the day came that it is just her and Richard on shift, he comes back into the office late in the day to see Camille pondering the white board. But it isn’t his white board. This one is newer. He places his briefcase onto his desk and joins her. They both stand before it, arms crossed, ready to get to work.

“What’s all this then? I’m glad something’s come up. I’m dying for a good game.”

“It’s a problem that has been bothering me for several months now. I can’t seem to get a grip on it. I thought I’d try your approach since it works every time.”

He nods, “A very sensible attitude, Camille. Now let’s see…” and he quiets as he reads...

**Opportunity**

**– every day every night all the time everywhere**

“That seems a bit vague. Who perpetrates a crime 24/7?”

She just shakes her head. He turns back to the board...

**Means**

**– brilliant mind, astonishing skills, impeccable manners, dry sense of humour, moral fibre**

**- his smell, his voice, his smile, just the right height to kiss, lovely profile when seen against the setting sun, green eyes**

**-** **keeps a lovely home, makes a perfect cup of tea, runs like the wind…**

“Er…”

“I know... there’s lots more but I ran out of room. I think the facts I managed to get down speak for themselves. I can continue the list on our other white board, if you like.”

“Er, quite. No need. Thanks.” He doesn’t dare look at her.

She can feel nervousness radiating off him. Time to close the deal, “Opportunity and Means can be overlooked, given time. It’s the Motive I can’t crack.”

Clearing his mind, he faces the board. Putting the inner man under firm control, he reads...

**Motive**

**– no malice aforethought?**

**\- a crime of passion?**

**\- deliberate rejection?**

He ponders this for a brief time. To Camille, it feels like ages. He takes a deep breath. Uncrossing his arms and putting his hands on his hips, he looks down at the floor, “By ‘no malice aforethought’, I assume the guilty party isn’t aware of his crime?”

“Hard to tell, sir. He’s a tough nut to crack. A fortress behind a moat surrounded by alligators.”

“I see,” a small smile plays around the corners of his mouth, “and the ‘crime of passion’?”

“Well, it IS a crime. Every day that goes by is another day wasted. I’m very unhappy with the status quo and I’d be a much better DS if…”

He is looking at her now, amused, “If what?”

She refuses to look at him, “If my needs were being met.”

His eyebrows shoot up. He nods to himself, “I see. And your needs…?”

“Would be for the greater good. Fighting crime. Keeping the peace. Keeping house. Keeping him.”

“Well, I can tell you one thing for certain. The ‘deliberate rejection’ is not an option unless he’s either gay or quite mad. Have you checked those possibilities?”

“Oh, he’s quite mad. I rejected the ‘gay’ possibility some time ago. Separate research.”

“Did you now? I’d like to read those notes.”

She smiles too now, still not looking at him, “Maybe later, depending on our findings here today.”

“I see. Something to look forward to then. Hmmm. Well, it all seems to hinge on the uncertainty of the perpetrators’ intentions. How to discover that? Can we simply ask?”

“I’m afraid to.”

“You? Afraid? Seems unlikely.”

“It’s a life-changing question. If the answer is ‘no’ then the dream dies. If I don’t ask then the dream continues and I have some solace, ignorance being bliss and all that.”

“Could you perhaps beat a confession out of him?”

“I don’t dare touch him. He’s too tempting.”

“Poor fellow. All alone inside his fortress, pining for the princess, fearing the dragon.”

“What dragon?”

“The dragon that protects the princess. Don’t you know how these fairy tales go? One is in the fortress, locked up and guarded. The other must free the prisoner in order to find true love. It’s all total rubbish but still rather romantic.”

“Romantic? You think this scenario is romantic?”

“Many people find it so. Will they? Won’t they? Many a rom-com depends on sexual tension to carry the show.”

“Well, I think it’s gone on long enough. Do you see a way over this particular moat?”

“Yes, I do.” He turns to her, “Tell me. Am I the perpetrator?”

She can’t meet his eyes so she nods. He takes a step closer.

“And are you the victim?” She nods again. Now comes his decision. She takes a deep breath and braces herself. He sees it and smiles with compassion. He takes another step. She can smell him. _God, is he going to torture me to death? Can a person die of anticipation?_

He takes her hands, “In light of the urgency of this matter, I will forego my usual grand-standing and cut to the chase. Odd, isn’t it? We both suffer from the same crime. Of course, I would have a slightly different list of Means but…”

Her hands move in his like blind things seeking shelter. He shivers and she feels it. Taking heart, she finally looks up. Relief and joy streak through her as she registers his smile, the look in his eyes, “Do you mean to say you’ve been suffering the same thing? What a pair we make. Is it too soon to say that I love you?”

He laughs, “Well, that seals the deal. No gentleman worth his salt can back down from such a declaration. No, it’s not too soon. In fact, it’s about time.” He draws her slowly to him, easing her inside his moat and settling her next to his heart. He strokes her hair and whispers, “And I love you, my dragon.”

She rears back, “Dragon? I thought I was the princess! And I want to see YOUR list of Means!”

He gives her one last hug then steps away, “Not here. Not now. Never in the office or on the job. That is my one proviso. Can you accept that?”

“Of course. I was willing to fight a dragon for you, wasn’t I? Even though it turns out it was me all along. But when? Where? Tonight?”

He snorts softly, “So impetuous. Does this attribute lend itself to other aspects of your character?

“Give me the word and you’ll find out right smartly!”

“Word. You’re coming home with me. No time like the present to put this shocking crime to bed.”

“Should we stop for dinner first?”

“Get something from La Kaz…”

She is out the door.

He rushes the doorway, leans out into the falling night, “And DON’T tell the other dragon anything!!”

Later, voices in the dark...

"Richard, if I'm the dragon... are you the princess?"

"Well, let's think about that.  If the princess isn't rescued in time or isn't careful, the dragon feeds... so, yes, I suppose I am the princess.  Happy now?"

"Oh, yes, happy and well-fed... and do you know the best part?"

"I hesitate to ask..."

"I'm getting hungry again." 

END – The Wonderful Surprise Suit


	10. The Clock Strikes Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biological clocks are ticking.

**The Clock Strikes Two**

She looks out to the sea, lost in thought.

He watches her. _She looks sad_ , he thinks. He inwardly curses his inadequacies. _Just say it_. His lips refuse to move. _OK, well, if I can't say THAT then say something!  Come on, Poole!_  

Just as he starts to speak, she turns to him, “Why did you never have children?”

He blinks, caught off guard, “Ummm. Well, children implies a mother… and I… never… you know...”

She nods absently, “Right. Right. No mother. No children. That’s logical… and sad.”

“Camille, are you feeling alright?”

“It’s Maman. She is practically ordering me to start a family. ‘The biological clock is ticking, chérie. Tic tic tic tic….’ I’ve told her and told her that I can’t just get pregnant. I’m going to use your logic on her. No father. No children. That ought to stop it… for a while.”

But it didn’t stop it. Several days later, as they celebrate yet another successful case wrap-up, Richard sees Catherine hovering, glaring at Camille, holding up her arm, tapping her watch. He can hear it inside his own head. _Tic tic tic. The clock is ticking, girl!_

Feeling protective for his second-in-command and hating the bully tactics being thrown her way, he places his hand over Camille’s, giving Catherine a ‘Leave her alone!’ stare.

Catherine’s eyebrows shoot up. She returns Richard’s look with one of her own.

_Something in her eye… is that a challenge? Why are women such a closed book to me?_

She stands down. Turns. Leaves.

Camille leans in, “Thank you for that. Maybe she’ll leave me alone for a few days.”

“No problem. All in a day’s work.”

As their hands draw apart, a jolt shoots up both their arms. They jump, look at each other.

“Did you feel that?” she asks in a hush.

He nods, wide-eyed.

She brushes her fingertips across his hand experimentally. Another jolt hits them. They jerk back in their chairs, not looking at each other. The silence spins out.

After a moment, he cautiously speaks, “Do you hear something?”

They both listen to the metronome sounding from out of the air all around them.

“No,” she says.

“Me neither.”

But they both listen to it none-the-less.

Catherine appears like magic, refreshes their drinks, leaves. They studiously ignore her.

He tries a joke… anything to break the noisy silence, “That woman practically vibrates ill wishes. Please ask her to take off whatever hex she just put on me.”

Looking down at the napkin left with her new drink, Camille pales, “It might be too late for that.”

“What do you mean?”

She indicates his own napkin. He flips it over. She lays hers down beside it.

His. Father.

Hers. Mother.

The ticking stops.

END – The Clock Strikes Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing this collection down, starting new one soon.


End file.
